Virgins: Just Mark, Just Brent, Just Kathy, Just Abby (hound), Just Sandy, Just Maureen, Just Denise (De-knees?)

The Trail: Pre-Lube on the Hudson Riverside Deck at the Brown Brewing Company Taproom. Expensive drafts (but the Oatmeal Stout wasn't bad). Many virgins showed up looking for a guy named Sam. We assured them that we knew no such person, but they hung around anyway. We were told that the trail would be an A to B (with no bag car) and would involve aerial checks, hash halts, song checks, back checks (and f-all few beer checks!). Somewhere to the east of us, clouds were forming.

Trail quickly proved to be a patentely clever Astro Homo trail, as we almost went across the Hudson. We were then forced to run by a pavilion from which emitted horrible screeching sounds. It was determined to be some sort of singing. While singing a song of our own by a statue of Uncle Sam, we wished we had drowned ourselves in the river, in lieu of being subjected to this aural assault. We ran into a parking garage, through a mall, around a few blocks, and then up to the top of a really long staircase. From this lofty perch, the Eagles were promised wonderful cold beer, as long as they could find a sign somewhere in the city below. Turkeys were instructed to keep going up, up, up. That's the last time the Eagles ever saw them alive. Er, ok, dry.

Since I ran with the eagles, this missive will continue from here. We took to the stairs and descended (literally) to the parking garage where beer was promised. Up (again) to the 4th level where we found Astro's broke down and busted car. On the back seat of Astro's car, we could clearly see beer on the seat of the car, which was locked. Kid Kock was raving something about a cooler of beer, which we vainly searched for. We searched the entire garage for it. We even fished out a cell phone, but no one could remember the hare's phone number. Saddened, and thirsty, we left the garage. Hey - anyone else feel a rain drop?

Trail zigged and zagged around more city streets, through a tight spot in a fence, down around some government buildings. It was starting to get dark, and the blue chalk markings were getting harder to see. Just as we were starting to figure out trail, the skies opened up. I mean, opened up. We were soaked to the skin immediately, and any chance of finding chalk was erased in seconds. With trail obliterated, the pack scattered, all hoping to make it back to A where we could find a cell phone, call the hares, and tell them to come on back (we had no idea where B would be. Anyone seen THFKAD?

Meanwhile, on the other side of town, THFKAD was set upon by bears and eaten.

Back at A, the turkeys and eagles were reunited. The turkeys never made it to the trail end, but they did make it to a beer check. Some people changed out of their wet clothing. Some people had beer and hot food. Circle would start soon, they thought. Still no sign of THFKAD - but we have beer!

Meanwhile, in Defreestville, THFKAD fell down into an abandoned mine shaft and broke both legs. Lassie was busy, and thus failed to warn Timmy.

Hours went by, and a progressively more inebriated pack went shopping for a nice dress and matching curtains. Some low buzzing in their muddled minds reminded them that they hadn't done circle yet. Who was that swarthy, tall, handsome hasher who yelled a lot, again? Anyone remember his name?

From here the telling gets muddy. Perhaps we can set the end scene and you can connect the dots with your imagination. THFKAD was up to his chest in the quicksand, having given himself last rites (a rare ministerial perk), when through the thick, hissing, fist sized rain drops approached a dark, low slung automobile. Two caped crusaders lept from the steaming jet powered vehicle, and ran toward the semi-concious figure. There were low murmurs "Holy Hellfire, AstroFag, he's still alive!" "Wait, KidGay, don't step too close, the quicksand could take you and him down down down in one gulp!" "Jeepers, AstroFag, you're right! Gosh, you're swell!" "No time for that, stop humping my leg and grab a stick. No - not that stick!"

Thus saved, THFKAD was dubbed Wet-Assed-Last. We had no FRB as trail was washed away as if it were California housing.

Award Winners:

Hares: Astro Homo, McCavity
FRB: None
DAL: THFKAD
Hashit: Kid Kock (Had the key to the beer check THE WHOLE TIME. @&$*@(#*!)
Virgins:
Just Mark
Just Brent - Left before Circle
Just Kathy - Astro Homo made her come, not her husband
Just Sandy
Just Maureen
Just Denise
30 runs: Doctor Queer
100 runs: Dirtbag was presented with plaque. And some toothpaste.

Lost Stuff:
Dum Cumster, AHH, One Drunk Walking, Bodsa, Aunt Jemima
Backsliders:
Kid Kock (and when one hare drinks...), One Drunk Watching
New Halve Meiner:
European Whore renounced Nittany as her home hash, embraced the Halve Mein Hash with open legs, and then we all had a cigarette.